Nothing But the Truth Part II
by Kassandra Lorelei
Summary: The Writer is back and armed with more Veritaserum for your express amusement! Rated T for safety. Disclaimer: I own nothing.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

An absence of Firewhiskey soon led to an absence of Charlotte and Marita, which left the Writer shaking her head at a pleading Snape as he begged for "anything but that".

"I've named my price," she said firmly, "do you want those memories or not?"

"But to give you one of my memories in return..." Snape implored, "it's unthinkable! I refuse to do it."

"Come on, Severus, it would only be one memory," the Writer thought for a moment, "I'll tell you what, if I ask for just _one_ memory from you, will you send others from the Order so I can start a fresh collection?"

Snape considered this, "Even...Potter?"

"Especially Potter," the Writer smirked, "wouldn't you love to see _both_ Harry and James Potter writhing around in the agony of their own embarrassment? It's the perfect act of revenge, my friend!"

"I...that would be most amusing..." the corners of Snape's mouth twitched, as though he considered smiling. It was the closest the Writer had ever seen him to looking happy.

"All you have to do is give me one memory, then it will all be over...for you, anyway. For the rest of the Order, well..." the Writer dug into her desk drawer and pulled out a fat purse, practically bursting with coins, "I'll even pay you for your trouble. One hundred Galleons for your memory now and there's plenty more where that came from."

"Really?"

"Of course. I'll pay you for every member of the Order you send my way. Heck, I'll pay you for _anyone_ you send my way, Order member or not," the Writer passed him the purse, "one memory and this is yours."

Snape paused, mulling it over.

"This had better be worth it," he told her, "because I won't save your skin if it backfires."

"No problem, Severus, it can't possibly go wrong," the Writer took out her trusty vial of Veritaserum and poured it into a glass, "I suppose as you know what you're doing I don't have to disguise it with a drink of any kind?"

"No, thank you," Snape gripped the glass and swigged from it, gulping as the effects took hold.

"I once took a day off to go see an Oasis concert!"

"Not really what I was looking for, please continue," the Writer inspected her nails with a hint of boredom.

"Alright, then, try this one for size," Snape snapped, "I like to read dirty romance novels. I write them, too!"

There was an uncomfortable amount of silence.

"Severus Snape, the strictest no nonsense man in this universe, reads and writes Adult Fiction?" the Writer spoke mainly to herself, "that is probably the most unexpected thing I've heard in years."

"Are you going to cash in on this arrangement or not? Because if not, I'm leaving," Snape asked.

"Alright, hold still..." the Writer pulled the memory from the side of his greasy head and put it in the vial. Snape stood upright from his chair and paced towards the door. But before he took his leave, he turned round.

"No one is to know about this," he pointed at the Writer in warning.

"Not a soul," the Writer crossed a finger over her heart.

With a flourish of his robes, he stormed moodily out the door. Alone again, the Writer began to chuckle, pressing the Power button on her computer. She turned the vial over in her hand.

"No one is to know about this...apart from most of the English-speaking world."


	2. A Hot October Night

**Hi, everyone! Sorry I've taken so long, I've had quite a long and busy week. But I'm back now, so let's get this show on the road...**

**Chapter 1**

**A Hot October Night**

"_Maria gasped soundly as the door burst open to reveal a panting Antonio, dripping from the rain that poured from the heavens outside. Thunder and lightning accompanied his entrance, as though the world itself announced his entry, both into the house and into her heart._

_His shirt was torn, hanging limply and open to the waist, a sculpted chest heaved beneath as he breathed heavily, eyes blazing with passion and want. He came towards her..."_

"Severus!" shouted a voice, "get down here _now_!"

Severus jumped, snapping his copy of _The Rose of Rome_ shut. Nobody could see him, right? No, of course not, he was in his room and the door was shut. The only way out – or in, for that matter – that wasn't locked when he wanted a little time to read was the window.

Anyway, he supposed he had better go and see what old No Nose wanted. Another day, another hour of listening to an evil madman prattle on about his latest scheme - doomed to fail, no matter what he tried - whilst pretending to ignore the insane woman fawning over said madman as she attempts to get so close to him that she ends up spread-eagled over the table. The Order would find that amusing, if he told them.

He slid the book underneath his mattress, where he kept all his other Books of That Variety, _The River Maiden_, _The Hunter's Daughter_ and so on and so forth.

He didn't panic over any of the Death Eaters finding it. They weren't clever enough to beat _teenagers_, for Merlin's sake, why would they ever think "hmm, that looks slightly suspicious, I must investigate."?

He closed the door behind him, sauntered down the corridor and out of sight.

As soon as he was gone, the window flew open. Three sets of trainers stepped cautiously along the branch and onto the window ledge. Once each one was sure of footing, they jumped inside. The Invisibility Cloak slipped off each one in turn, revealing none other than the Golden Trio; Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"Why are we here again?" Ron asked, picking himself up from a rather hard landing on the floor and dusting himself off. Hermione folded her arms in a very piqued way.

"Because Harry suspects Professor Snape of something..._again_," she sighed, "and because he refuses to tell either of us what that "something" is, we have to come with him to find out."

Harry, meanwhile, was scouring the room for clues, anything that could be considered incriminating. He went through the wardrobe – packed with identical black robes lined neatly from one side to the other, each one bearing a tag with a day of the week on it – and checked under the rug and in the chests of drawers (except for the underwear drawer, he did have _some _limits, for goodness sake).

There was nothing to be found until he came to the desk in the far corner. Paper cluttered it, most scrunched into balls in what must have been some frustration. A quill lay out of the ink pot to the side, still wet.

Harry picked up a sheet and began to read it. He scanned it for a few seconds, before slamming it back from whence it came, covering his eyes and groaning.

"I've gone blind!" he cried, "that made me want to throw up!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, coming over and snatching up the paper. She read it aloud.

"_Elena smiled slowly, seductively, reaching up to_-Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed, interrupting her reading. She put the paper down and turned away, rubbing her forehead as though massaging it would dispel the images her brain had made her witness. Ron had noticed something else, what appeared to be a bookmark stuck out from underneath the bed, and was lifting the mattress.

"Could you give us a hand?" he grunted. They came over to help. What they found shocked them.

Piles and piles of books most definitely suited to...a certain type of audience.

"Alright, I've found enough out, let's leave," Harry tugged Hermione away, but Ron lagged behind, pocketing a copy of one entitled _The Devil's Nightshade_.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Um...Evidence!" Ron argued back, "that's right, evidence!"

Over Ron and Hermione's argument, no one heard the footsteps on the landing, nor the turn of the door handle.

The door opened, to reveal a _very_ surprised Snape. Everyone screamed and scrambled to get out, but then Severus remembered he had every right to be there so he had no need to be fleeing, nor shrieking like a girl.

His three least favourite students, on the other hand, made their escape through the window, leaping into the darkness of the night.

He locked the window after them, checking to see if they'd taken anything. They had uprooted his mattress and one of the books was missing.

"Potter..."he snarled, shaking his clenched fist dramatically at the window, in the direction the three Gryffindors had run off, "I'll get you for this...mark my words!"


	3. The Unsinkable Narcissa Malfoy

**Hi, everyone! This chapter comes as a request from CrazyIndividuals, so I hope you like it guys!**

**I'd just like to thank everyone who has stuck by me so far, especially Miss C Riddle. Your advice and support has been invaluable and I thank you.**

**Right, that's my moment out of the way, so let's get going...**

**Chapter 2**

**The Unsinkable Narcissa Malfoy**

The Writer stood at the window, watching the people walking on the pavement below and wondering or who would be her next victim. Snape had been gone several days. Was he going to send someone, or had he backed out of it?

Woes betide him if he had. It was lucky memories made such good bargaining chips. The Writer didn't usually condone blackmail, but needs must when Dark Magic threatens.

There came a quiet knocking at the door and the corner's of the Writer's mouth turned upwards in both delight and relief. He'd kept to his word. She turned her head to look at the door.

"Come in..."

The head of Narcissa Malfoy poked round the door, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all, please come in and have a seat," the Writer turned round fully. Narcissa sat, hands in her lap, clutching a piece of paper. She held it out over the desk.

"Severus asked me to give you this."

The Writer took it and looked it over.

"_Writer,_

_I have sent Narcissa Malfoy to you as a guinea pig, for lack of a better phrase. _

_I needed to test this plan out before I start sending members of the Order, to be sure it worked. _

_I needed someone close at hand, who is both trusting and trustworthy and who owes me a favour. Send me an owl to tell me how it went._

_I apologise for how long this has taken me, meetings with the Dark Lord have become even longer and more frequent than usual. I think he is planning something, but I don't dare tell him not to get his hopes up, especially after what happened to the last poor sod who did._

_Severus"_

The Writer nodded to herself, contemplating this most recent turn of events. She looked up and smiled at the witch opposite.

Thinking ahead, she turned the note over and scribbled something down. In the corner, on a counter beneath the shelves, a kettle plugged into the wall whistled merrily. The Writer went to switch it off.

"Seeing as the kettle has just boiled, would you like some tea?"

"Well..."Narcissa thought about it, "why not? It's not often I get to be outside without having to look down at people like you. Present company accepted, of course."

The Writer turned and reached for two mugs, "How do you like your tea?"

"White, no sugar, please."

"With a splash of Veritaserum..." the Writer chuckled under her breath, unstopping the vial and pouring the contents into the brown, swirling liquid. She stirred it, hiding all evidence and set it on the desk. Narcissa took it and sipped it delicately.

"Why are you here, then?" the Writer leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.

"Well, I needed to get out of the house for a little while and Severus said he needed a favour – to deliver that note I gave you – so I jumped at the opportunity."

"You needed to get out of the house?" the Writer repeated, "troubles at home, then?"

"Well...not exactly," Narcissa explained, "Lucius seems to think women have very few roles in life. Cook, clean and raise a family. We have House Elves to do the two former. We have Draco, so I've done the latter. I'm supposed to sit and do nothing, while he goes to work and Draco goes to school. I'm bored and lonely, and no one seems to care!"

Narcissa was starting to get worked up, so the Writer gingerly patted her arm. She was starting to feel more than a little sorry for her. It almost made her regret taking her memory and using it for personal gain – _almost_, but not quite.

"Don't worry, I'm here," she smiled kindly, "drink your tea, you'll feel better."

"Thank you..." Narcissa gulped, wiping her eyes. She took a long draught of tea, "anyway, it's not like Lucius controls _all_ my life. What he doesn't know is that I lead a double life as a barmaid!"

Narcissa gasped, losing her grip on the mug, fingers scraping uselessly as it shattered on the floor, spraying tea and china everywhere.

"I wasn't supposed to say that! I..." Narcissa fumbled her words, muttering about secrets and what would happen if Lucius or Bellatrix found out. The Writer noted down something on a sheet of paper.

The pieces of china on the floor began to vibrate. They leapt onto the desk, reforming the mug. Globules of tea bubbled up from the floorboards, dripping like rain back from whence they came.

"Don't you feel better after telling me, though?" the Writer folded her arms.

Narcissa paused, "Well...yes, surprisingly enough."

She stood up to her full height – a not very impressive height, but still – and made towards the door.

"Thank you," she smiled at the Writer slightly – that was new. Usually the last thing people said to her before they left was either a curse or, well, just curses, actually, "...this is just between us, right?"

"The words you said will not leave this room," the Writer nodded once.

Satisfied with the answer, Narcissa left the office, closing the door behind her.

"The words I _write_, however..." the Writer laughed to herself, "oh, this is going to be fun..."


	4. On the House

**Chapter 3**

**On the House**

It was sometime after dinner at Malfoy Manor and the family, along with other high ranking Death Eaters, were gathered in the drawing room, mostly around a card table. Narcissa sat upright, glancing occasionally at the clock. If she didn't leave soon, she'd be late.

Suddenly, she could keep it in no longer.

"I'm tired, so I'm going to bed, goodnight," she announced quickly, before leaping out her chair next to the fire and flying out the door and up the stairs.

"Goodnight," the Death Eaters called back, not really concentrating. They were too immersed in their game of poker, of which Bellatrix was currently winning.

"You _must_ be cheating," complained Lucius, shuffling the cards, "you've won the last five hands!"

"Shut up and deal," Bellatrix raked in the Galleons she'd just collected.

"As much as I'd like to stay an' watch Bellatrix demolish you an' empty yer wallets," Greyback rose from his chair, "I 'ave to leave."

Without further explanation, Greyback walked out and Apparated on the spot.

Meanwhile, Narcissa got herself ready for work. She had picked out some of her Muggle clothes, which she stowed under a loose floorboard behind the wardrobe. She kept a supply if she wanted to go incognito. She chose a short sleeved black blouse, a skirt to just below the knee, a zip up jacket and a pair of high heel shoes.

She tied her hair back and, with reluctance, left her wand on the bedside table.

She Apparated to a quiet road, opposite her workplace, _The Black Lion_. Stepping through the door, she was greeted by a loud chorus of cheers, applause and one or two wolf whistles.

"Evening, lads," she nodded at the regulars. They were mostly good men, but one or two could get a little...over excited. That soon stopped, however. During the first two weeks of her employment, Narcissa brought in her wand. Charms were used and memories modified. A lot of men went home that night feeling different, like they'd missed something and thinking they should apologise to that girl on the bus that they tried to feel up.

She went behind the bar, tying an apron round her middle and watching over towards the tables, where the men were watching highlights of that Muggle sport that was like Quidditch, but no one had brooms and if you tried to beat the other team's players with a bat you were sent off.

After that, the evening began as it normally did. Serving drinks and having a laugh with the regulars. Narcissa enjoyed it, talking with people outside the "accepted" social circle.

Muggles weren't as bad as everyone said they were. Of course, there was the occasional brawl, or someone would pass out in the toilets, but she'd seen wizards do that as well, the only difference being the clean up was quicker. Lucius wasn't a man could hold his drink and he'd even been drunk under the table by her own sister. But, come to think of it, Narcissa had seen Bellatrix drink stuff that could floor a Hungarian Horntail.

The evening took an interesting turn as she wiped down the bar. The front door opened and someone stepped inside, a long coat cloaking them.

They stepped out the shadows, and Narcissa jumped backwards. It was Greyback! Had the others back at the house noticed she'd gone and sent someone to find her? He couldn't see her here, he'd tell everyone and...and...and she wasn't sure what they'd do! Would they cast her out, like Andromeda?

"Narcissa Malfoy?"

Oh no, he was heading straight for her! Narcissa began to panic and hurried into the kitchen, but was stopped by the landlord, Mitchell.

"Do you know 'im?" he nodded towards Greyback, who had seated himself at the bar. Narcissa nodded, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

"Is 'e...trouble? 'Cause if so, we can kick 'im out."

"No...no...it's just..." Narcissa began.

"Just what?" Mitchell asked, folding his arms, awaiting an explanation.

Narcissa thought about it. She couldn't say "I can't let him see me because I'm a witch and he's a wizard and he'll tell my sister and husband who are also a witch and wizard. We all work for the Dark Lord Voldemort who wishes to rid the world of people who _aren't _witches or wizards, Muggles, we call them. I can't be seen talking to you because you're not a wizard, you're an enemy, a Muggle." It was too complicated an explanation, for one thing, and for another, she'd heard about places Muggles put people who said things like that.

"I'll go see what he wants," Narcissa turned away and walked slowly towards Greyback, who looked up.

"Why did you run away just now?" he hissed.

"Because I wasn't sure what you'd do," Narcissa whispered furiously back, "why are you here, anyway?"

"I could ask you the same," Greyback replied, "but, if you must know, I like to go out fer a drink. Why are _you_ here, Mrs Malfoy?"

"I like to socialise," Narcissa absentmindedly wiped the bar with a cloth.

"With _Muggles_?" Greyback spluttered, "you really are slummin' it, aren't you? And the boss is a Muggle, so yer takin' orders from one too..."

"And you like to drink amongst Muggles," argued Narcissa, "is that any better?"

"But yer _servin' _'em!" Greyback slapped his palm on the bar in glee.

"And I enjoy it!" she yelled at him, causing everyone in the bar to turn round. Then, when everyone had experienced the uncomfortable silence and gone back to whatever it was they were doing, Narcissa spoke in a lower voice, "like you enjoy going out to karaoke and getting drunk, _remember_?"

Greyback turned crimson.

"You didn't stop going when Lucius and Bellatrix found you out, did you?" Narcissa grinned in triumph.

"Well..."

"I thought not. You always leave early on certain nights of the week. Usually that wouldn't be a problem, given your condition, but the full moon only occurs once a month!"

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" for the first time, Greyback actually sounded worried, "I told them I don't go anymore, if they find out they'll ruin my reputation!"

An idea struck Narcissa.

"I only promise not to tell anyone, if you don't tell them I work here."

"And?" Greyback asked, "I'll need a little more leverage than that!"

"And we have karaoke, every Thursday, if you can make it," Narcissa added.

Greyback sat there, looking at her expectantly. Narcissa groaned with annoyance.

"Drinks on the house," she finally said, "for whenever you're here. I'm sure I can use some sort of charm to make sure the landlord doesn't notice."

Greyback grinned, showing horribly yellow teeth.

"You have yerself a deal, Mrs Malfoy."


	5. Once in a Blue Moony

**Hey, everyone, it's me again.**

**I just wanted to say that with the thanks to Miss C Riddle in my last Author's Note, I did try to add to the list, but the Edit page wasn't having any of it, sorry. So, I'd like to thank you all now. You've all really supported me since I began this and it's readers like you that have reviewed and given suggestions that make me proud I write.**

**Anyway, let's get going...**

**Chapter 4**

**Once in a Blue Moony**

The Writer was working on her latest piece, stopping every few minutes to think and giggle about something unknown to anyone else under her breath. As she typed, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called without looking up, appearing to be busy. Had Snape found someone to unknowingly volunteer already? That man was going to break the bank! She'd only just paid for his work with Narcissa!

Ah, well. If he ever came to collect – not likely – he'd have to face her and her imagination. After all, they do say the pen is mightier than the sword. Or, in this case, the wand. Yes, a nice case of turning him into a can-can girl would certainly make him avoid her in the future. Money problems solved.

"Am I interrupting?" asked a voice. The Writer started, forgetting she wasn't alone. She looked up. Remus Lupin shuffled his feet in circles on the floorboards. He looked pale and dishevelled, as was usual for someone who spent one night a month as a giant mutant wolf. Dark shadows fell beneath his eyes. The full moon was coming, in less than a week by the looks of him.

"No, not at all," the Writer rose to her feet and pulled out a chair, "please, sit."

Lupin sat. He, like Narcissa, held in his hand a note. He raised his arm and slipped the note onto the desk. The Writer snatched it up and read it.

"_Writer,_

_I've received your owl, with the note and the Galleons. I'd offer congratulations, but I believe your ego would inflate to such an enormous size that you'd never fit through doors again._

_I have, once more, kept to my word. Here is the first member of the Order I am sending to you. He believes he's with you to pick up his monthly supply of Wolfsbane Potion, as well as other supplies for my storeroom at Hogwarts..."_

"Why is he telling me this?" the Writer muttered under her breath, shrugging to herself. She kept on reading.

"_I'm telling you this so that when he asks you for the potions, you don't act like a complete dunderhead and mess up royally. I'm sure you can disguise the Veritaserum in the Wolfsbane. I'll be waiting for your reply._

_Severus"_

The Writer shut the note away in a drawer.

"Right, it so happens you're in luck today," the Writer went to the shelf, pretending to search through the vials, but in reality, adding the Veritaserum to the only vial of Wolfsbane Potion she had, "I have a vial of Wolfsbane right here. Unfortunately, Snape will have to wait for everything else, but he'll get it in the end."

She set the cordial on the table, "I suggest you drink it now. The full moon is about a week away, and you can't afford to lose time in taking it at home."

Lupin, without a further thought, unstopped the vial and downed the liquid, grimacing. The Writer watched with interest, wondering how and when the potion would take effect.

"Just in time, that," he said at that, "I have to be well again by the week after the full moon, anyway. I'm going to a Star Trek convention!"

Lupin slapped his hand over his mouth, but it was too late and the damage was done. The Writer took the memory and wiped his memory of the entire incident.

She helped him down the stairs and out onto the street, before turning back inside. Lupin felt dazed and as though he'd forgotten something important, but decided to head home anyway. If he couldn't remember, it couldn't be that important.

The Writer chuckled to herself, turning the vial over and staring fixedly at the memory inside.

"Remus Lupin is a Trekkie..." she muttered with a grin, "that is highly illogical."


	6. Where No Wizard Has Gone Before

**Hi, everyone, I'm back. Sorry I've been gone so long, I've had a hectic schedule recently. For those who are interested, I had a three-day Sweet Sixteen last week and have had exams all this week.**

**I'd also like to apologise for anything I get wrong in this chapter. I've never been to a convention of any sort in my life, so I have no idea what happens at one.**

**Chapter 5**

**Where No Wizard Has Gone Before**

Lupin barely contained a squeal of excitement as the doors opened before him. He hadn't been this wound up since ComicCon!

He scanned the room, brimming with people all here to see the stars of the best television series ever invented: Star Trek. It didn't matter if it was The Original Series, Voyager or even Enterprise. They were all there to enjoy the day. Apart from the man dressed as a Klingon in the corner beating another man dressed as a Borg over the head with a replica phaser because he said Janeway was a better captain than Kirk.

The two were quickly escorted off-premises by security and the day was better for everyone. Lupin ignored them. Now, if that Borg had said Janeway was a better captain than _Picard_, the outcome would have been _very_ different. Let's just say resistance would have been futile and he would have been more than assimilated, more like annihilated.

He wandered happily around the room, staring in awe and wonder at the props in their glass cases; phasers from The Original Series, a selection of Tribbles, models of the _Enterprise_ and _Voyager_, the list was endless! But it was all nothing compared to what was going to happen later.

The highlight of the day was taking place at noon. The casts of each Star Trek, from The Original Series to the 2009 remake were going to be there, answering fan questions, signing autographs and just being generally awesome! Just the thought of his heroes sat at a table before his own eyes made his heart flutter and his breathing turn short and rapid. He would see Patrick Stewart with his own eyes! Lupin's eyes glazed over at the mere thought of him.

"The man is an utter _god_..." he sighed to himself.

But for the moment he was satisfied with looking at the props. Until he saw something in the corner which was worth more to him than anything else in the room.

There, pride of place in a glass box, was the uniform of Captain Jean-Luc Picard. No stitch out of place, lit perfectly by stage lights. It was truly a thing of beauty.

This was a moment he'd been waiting for. Checking no one else was around, he unzipped his jacket pocket and took out a camera. Just as he was about to take the picture, someone coughed to gain his attention behind him.

Lupin jumped and, turning round, stuffed the camera into his pocket. The security guard in a red shirt shook his head and pointed at a sign on the bottom of the case.

"Can you read that to me?" he asked.

"No flash photography," Lupin mumbled back like a child who'd been caught out.

"Well done, now I suggest we don't run into each other again, or I may have to ask you to leave the building," the man's voice was calm, but hinted at threat, "understand?"

Lupin nodded and the security man went away, shaking his head as he did so. Lupin turned away, now resigned to just looking and longing.

"Hello, Professor Lupin," said a dreamy voice behind him. He jumped.

Behind him was Luna Lovegood, dressed as a female version of Spock in black trousers, a long-sleeved blue shirt with Starfleet insignia, a black wig and very realistic pointed ears. She carried a little satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Luna! What...what are you doing here?"

"I like Star Trek," she shrugged, "some of my Muggle friends showed me an episode and it grew on me."

She looked at Picard's uniform, up and down.

"It's very good condition, don't you think? They must check it constantly for Nargles..." she turned back to him, "why are you here, Professor?"

"I...I got lost!" Lupin proclaimed, "I came to ask for directions!"

"Oh..." Luna smiled, "is that what the security guard was saying to you? I thought he was telling you off for taking a photo."

"Um...no, no...just directions, better be off now..."Lupin made his way hastily towards the exit before he met up with anyone else he knew, "see you later, Luna!"

He fled the scene, looking back to see if anyone had followed him. He'd never live it down if the Order found out.

Once he was far enough away, he sat down on a bench. Then, he looked up and realised he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going and he was now actually lost. Worst of all, he hadn't even got a _glimpse_ of Patrick Stewart, let alone his autograph!

He kept a straight face whilst asking strangers directions to the nearest bus stop, but inside, Remus Lupin's inner Trekkie was weeping.


	7. Double Trouble

**Hi, guys. Sorry about the wait, but the chapter is here now. I won't bore you with the details.**

**Chapter 6**

**Double Trouble**

The Writer hummed a tune to herself, typing in time to the notes. She was feeling bored again. Where was Snape's next victi-...volunteer? She'd sent the note with the money – in a heavy bag, much to her owl's distaste – but got nothing in return. Had he decided he'd had enough? Had he got enough money to retire and live out the rest of his life in splendour somewhere?

The Writer chuckled at the thought of Snape doing _anything_ that could be considered retirement appropriate; playing golf on Sundays, afternoon tea on the patio with sandwiches and little cakes, sunset walks on the beach...

The Writer shuddered. Snape laughing and having fun, the thought alone was creepy.

As the disturbing image faded from her brain, there was a tap at the window. The Writer turned, to see a tawny owl at the window, a letter clutched in its beak.

She moved from her seat to open the window and the owl hopped inside, dropped the letter on the windowsill and flew away again.

"You cut right to the chase, don't you?" the Writer muttered to the blurry black spot on the skyline, before picking up the envelope.

"_Writer,_

_I apologise for how long this has taken me, but in the long run it will prove beneficial to the both of us. Besides, getting the both of them to agree to do anything I want them to should be rewarded in itself-"_

"Hang on..._both_ of them?" the Writer asked herself, before continuing to read.

"_They have no idea why I am sending them to you, so I expect you to use your brain for once, not just dumb luck and an enchanted writing set. Improvise._

_Severus"_

"Both of them..." the Writer tapped her chin thoughtfully, "I wonder..."

Before she could think any more about it, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Two men stepped through the door, one after the other. Both had messy black hair, but one had his tied in a short ponytail and the other wore round glasses.

Sirius Black and James Potter. I could understand what Snape meant by getting them both to do what he wanted. The man deserved congratulating that he wasn't hanging upside down from a ceiling somewhere like some oversized bat, no small effort on Sirius and James' part.

"Snape sent us," Sirius spoke up first. A plan formed in the Writer's head.

"Yes, he just sent me an owl to confirm your arrival," she pulled out the chair in front of the desk, "one of you take a seat, I'll just get another chair."

"Thanks," Sirius took the chair, to what looked like James' annoyance.

Upon scribbling on a piece of paper, another chair pulled up alongside Sirius. James took it, from the looks of things, glad to be off his feet.

"I have...valuable information for the Order," the Writer began. James leaned forward eagerly and a smile spread across Sirius' face.

"But first, would you both like a drink? You must be thirsty."

The light dimmed in their eyes slightly, but they agreed to a drink. They waited as the Writer poured two glasses of Firewhiskey and Veritaserum. She set them on the table before them.

"Drink up, gentlemen."

She watched with faint amusement as they downed them in one go. The Writer counted the seconds, waiting. James was the first to spill the beans.

"You know, Padfoot, I was just thinking, remember that time we started a band?"

The Writer nearly choked on her own glass of Firewhiskey. She listened intently.

"Yeah..." Sirius grinned, "and that gig we did at the Leaky Cauldron? We got absolutely wasted that night...how old were we, seventeen?"

"We must've been. You were depressed because you didn't have a girlfriend, so I suggested we do what Muggle seventeen year olds do and start a band. But we ended up drunk and we passed out!" James laughed, "and you ended up in bed with-"

James was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. He'd collapsed over the desk, clutching his sides.

"I know!" Sirius guffawed, "I was so embarrassed that I spent most of that summer as a dog!"

The Writer's patience was growing thin. If they weren't going to tell her outright, she'd have to go in and get it. She pulled out her wand.

"Obliviate."

Immediately, the looks on their faces became vacant. The Writer put away the memories in two separate vials.

"I'll find out who you slept with, Sirius Black, if it kills me."

Helping two confused men out of her office and down several flights of stairs was no easy task, but she managed it. She left them out on the street.

Returning to her office, she delved deep into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a purse.

"Snape, if this is as good as it promises to be, you have most definitely earned your Galleons."


	8. The Morning After

**Hey, everyone. Sorry the chapter took so long. Writer's Block is the worst thing ever. By the way, I do **_**not **_**ship the couple featured in this chapter. It is merely used for comic effect.**

**Thought of the day: What would you lot say to a Death Eater parody of a TV show? I was thinking something along the lines of The Apprentice or Downton Abbey, but it's your call.**

**My randomness aside, let's crack on with the show...**

**Chapter 7**

**The Morning After**

Sirius groaned in agony. How could a hangover hurt _this _much? It was like he was being stamped on. By a Ukrainian Iron Belly. In boots made of rocks. He clasped his head in despair with one hand and groped around uselessly for the goblet of water on the bedside table with the other.

He should never have let Prongs goad him into this. They'd done some stupid things at school, but this was going too far. The Marauders weren't even a good _band_, for Merlin's sake. They could barely play any of these Muggle instruments James had found.

Sirius wasn't sure if the gig Tom the barman had allowed them to play at The Leaky Cauldron was because he thought they had a chance, or because he was being paid for it.

Sirius rose slowly, aching, vision blurry and head pounding. He looked down at the floor, retching. He could've _sworn _he was at least wearing underwear when he finally decided to collapse into bed in the early hours of the morning, but now...well, now was a very different story.

The room had been pristine – as pristine as The Leaky Cauldron could ever get – when they'd checked in the day before. Now, the room was chaos.

Prongs was sleeping spread-eagled on the floor, one hand clutching his guitar, the other a bottle of Firewhiskey. Wormtail was curled in a corner, muttering in his sleep about someone named Lucy. Sirius smiled at this. He never knew he had it in him. Moony appeared to have just about made it through the door, before passing out, his face pushed into the floorboards.

Prongs moaned and blinked his eyes open. Sirius automatically covered himself with the duvet. James looked toward him, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

"Morning, Padfoot," he grinned, "you really got wasted, didn't you?"

"Suppose..." was all Sirius could mumble out, before pain took over. He gagged, breathing in and out slowly so he didn't embarrass himself any more than he probably already did last night.

"If you need to throw up, I suggest the corner that I prepared last night," Remus muttered sleepily, raising his arm and pointing, "that way it's controlled."

"Lucy, come back!" Peter started awake, sitting bolt upright. The others stared at him.

"Um...morning everyone."

"Good morning, Wormtail," Remus replied.

"Morning, Peter," Sirius made a gargantuan effort to stand, whilst still retaining his dignity. That ended in failure and he fell back onto the bed.

"Morning," James nodded happily, proud of himself that one of his friends had got so drunk that he didn't remember what he did the night before.

"Who's there?" asked a voice, "where am I?"

The Marauders were confused. The voice sounded like it was coming from the bed...

A mass of bedcovers next to Sirius shifted of its own accord. Everyone jumped.

Out of the sheets, rubbing their eyes and yawning heavily, came Rodolphus Lestrange. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Rodolphus took in his surroundings, ending his gaze on Sirius. Both men screamed.

Then the rest of the Marauders joined in, all bolting for the door like the room was on fire. Both Sirius and Rodolphus leapt out of bed, much to the other's horror. Both of them were completely naked. The screaming started again, only louder.

Rodolphus covered his eyes and, in the process of not looking where he was going, ran in the wrong direction, away from the door and, feeling what felt like a door handle, opened it and shut himself in the wardrobe.

Sirius, on the other hand, shifted into his dog form and escaped, downstairs and across the bar, where the others were discussing what was happening in the room.

"I knew he was drunk, but I didn't think he was _that_ drunk..."

"But Rodolphus is going to marry Bellatrix. Bellatrix is Sirius' cousin...does that mean he's committed incest?"

"No, Peter, it doesn't..."

The Marauders were so wrapped up in their own conversation that they didn't notice the large black dog slip past them and exit the building.

Sirius decided he'd let them pick up the tab.


	9. Resolutions and Regrets

**Hi, guys. I hope you all had a great Christmas. I'm sorry I didn't post over the holidays, but I've been away in Switzerland and the only Wi-Fi signal was a lie. Anyway, Happy 2012! **

**Chapter 8**

**Resolutions and Regrets**

The Writer scrunched up another piece of paper, the ink staining her hand. Making lists of what to cut back on for the New Year was hard – half of it she knew full well she wouldn't keep to. Mixing this with writing was probably one of the worst ideas she'd ever had.

Another ball of paper ended up in the waste paper basket. Christmas had been a good break away, but getting back into routine was slow-going. Snape had been away as well, or, that's what she presumed, as he hadn't replied to the note she sent by owl.

Turing to look out of the window, she noticed a black dot in the sky – could it be? The first new volunteer of 2012 was on their way now? She barely had time to plan anything, but that didn't matter – she'd make do.

The owl landed on the windowsill, handed her the letter in its beak, demanded an owl nut as a reward and then took off again.

"Straight to the point, as always..." she muttered as she watched the bird fly away, absentmindedly opening up the piece of paper as she did so.

"_Writer,_

_I apologise for my absence over the holidays, but the Dark Lord required the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor. Nothing came of the plan, as usual, apart from a large amount of the place almost being burned to the ground, Lucius and Narcissa had a shouting match they later referred to as a 'discussion' and Bellatrix lost her eyebrows. The least said the better, in other words._

_Getting onto the point, the next volunteer is on his way – he believes he's recruiting you into the Order. Ask a few questions, look interested, even if he's boring you off the face of this Earth._

_And another thing – he's fascinated by Muggles. If possible, keep any expensive technology out of reach. He'll most likely try to take it apart to see how it works._

_Severus"_

"'Fascinated by Muggles..." the Writer read, grinning, "well, there's only one person that could be."

The Writer removed her video camera from the shelf closest the door and shut it away in a cupboard. Satisfied with no expensive, breakable technology present, she poured herself a mug of tea, refilled and switched on the kettle, sat back and waited for her visitor.

She didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later, she opened the door to see Arthur Weasley stood outside. Letting him in, she pulled out the chair at her desk, offering it to him.

"Well, what made you want to join the Order in the first place?" he asked.

"I want to fight for what is good," she told him simply, before feigning surprise, "oh, I didn't offer you a drink, I'm sorry. Let me make you some tea, it's bitterly cold out there."

The kettle clicked off and the Writer rose to make it – with the usual Veritaserum for good measure. She was going to have to replace the vial soon.

"Thanks," Arthur sipped his tea. Then he looked down and noticed the bin full of bits of paper, "what's that?"

The Writer glanced at her old notes, "My attempts at New Year's Resolutions."

"I've heard of that. It's a Muggle thing, isn't it? They try to think up a promise of sorts to keep throughout the year. I hear few people manage it."

"That sounds about right. I never really think about it," the Writer replied.

Arthur gulped his tea, "I made a 'Resolution' last year. I decided I was going to make more Muggle friends, so I did."

The Writer leaned forward a little, not wanting to appear too eager, "How did that turn out?"

"Well...we have a lot of fun, but they mainly get me drunk, so a lot of the time I can't remember things I did – I'm sure the memory is back there somewhere, though. They showed me this 'video' of me driving this vehicle – what was it called? – oh, yes, a 'golf cart'. They had a 'video' of me driving this 'golf cart' down a long Muggle road...what do Muggles call it...? Oh, yes, the M25!"

The Writer spat her tea back into the mug, slapping her hand on the desk. Arthur continued, undisturbed by her behaviour, but also possibly because he was unable to stop himself.

"They also take me to all sorts of clubs, as well. But that's when I have a drink too many and wake up on the sofa at home. Molly isn't the least sympathetic, either..."

The Writer got up, sneaking her wand into her pocket as she did so, in the pretence that she was going to make another cup of tea. When she was behind him, out of sight, she pointed the wand at him.

"Obliviate," she muttered.

Informing him that he'd "come looking for someone but got the wrong office", the Writer helped Arthur on his way, before settling down behind her desk.

"The New Year's in and I'm back in business!"


	10. Golf, Stella and Holes Full of Sand

**Hey, everyone. Happy Valentine's Day!**

**I must apologise for being gone for so long, but I have a week off school to make it up to you! I have battled colds, migraines and strenuous torture (AKA Maths homework) to bring this to you, so I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter 9**

**Golf, Stella and Holes Full of Sand**

"Come on, lads," Mike whispered urgently, "keep going, or it'll be dawn by the time we get in!"

"We're coming, alright? Keep your hair on," Darren finished his can of lager and chucked it mindlessly into the brush behind him, "Arthur, give me a leg up, would you?"

Arthur knelt and did as he asked, helping his friend over the fence, "What are we doing here again?"

"Are you that drunk that you don't remember?" Mike laughed. He, too, finished his can, crushed it against his head and threw it drunkenly at the fence, so it made a loud clanging noise.

"We're here to have some fun," Darren jumped down, his feet thudding on the ground, "can you make it over by yourself?"

"I think so, hold on a minute..." Arthur picked up the box of Stella Artois and passed it over to his friends. This was such a good idea! Start chatting with random strangers, who take you out drinking, then take you to a golf course and tell you that you're breaking in with them. What a laugh!

Arthur climbed the fence – with a little help from both magic and Darren pulling him over the other side - and he landed flat out on his face in the mud. Darren burst out laughing, but pulled him to his feet. Mike was already making his way into the darkness, his path lit only by the small torch he'd had stashed in his pocket.

"Mike, wait up!" his friends called, running to catch up.

They followed him carefully across to a shed, away from the lights of the larger building nearby. It was locked tight, a padlock and chain round the door.

Darren handed Arthur another lager, took one himself and set the box on the grass. From the bag on his back, he pulled out a crowbar and set to work on the padlock .

"I came prepared for this..." he chuckled. To himself. Mike was busy drinking and Arthur was throwing up in a ditch full of sand. It was strange, he thought to himself, why would Muggles want a ditch full of sand in their garden? Were they transforming it into their own private beach?

A loud _clunk_ informed everyone that Darren had broken through. He ushered them inside.

The contents of the shed astounded Arthur. They looked just like Muggle cars, but with most of it missing. He took another gulp from his can of lager.

"What's this?" he slurred slightly, pointing at the vehicle.

"This," Darren informed him, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder, "is our fun."

He pushed Arthur into the seat and Mike offered him a penknife.

"This is how you start it," Mike pointed at the knife.

"With a knife?" Arthur was both amazed and confused, "I thought knives were to cut things...wow...this is fun..."

"You put it..." Darren pointed inside the vehicle, "in there, where the key normally goes."

Arthur stuck out the knife, stabbing until it slotted into the keyhole. He turned it, the engine rumbling. He turned it again, until it roared into life.

Arthur Weasley had driven a car before, but he had never done it with enough alcohol in his body to kill an elephant. This had now changed.

He put his foot on something that felt like the accelerator and was blasted backwards when he floored it. Mike and Darren guffawed, taking out their phones and setting them to video record.

Dizzy, but still drunk enough not to care, Arthur put his foot on the right pedal and zoomed off into the night, laughing loudly.

His friends ran after him, torches focused on the small golf cart gradually fading into the distance, phones held high, recording everything.

Arthur paid no attention to his friends, who were in hysterics, the bumps in the ground slowing him down, nor the shouts of the people hosting a dinner at the country club he had broken into and stolen from, screaming for him to stop.

He drove through the gates and onto the road, swerving to avoid cars. The drivers were more than a bit annoyed about this and showed their displeasure, in oh so many hand gestures.

Arthur drove well into the dawn, laughing that nobody had caught him.

The minute he thought that, he heard a siren behind him. He pulled over, not exactly stopping, more like crashing into the barrier at the side of the road. It stopped the cart, whatever he did.

A tall policeman wandered over, clutching a small box with a straw sticking out of it.

"Good morning sir."

"It's _morning_?" Arthur looked around, a look of horror on his face. Sure enough, the sky was blue, tinted with orange on the horizon. Cars were making their way carefully around, some going at a snail's pace because they were heading for work, but a drunk driver was much more interesting.

"Yes, sir, it is morning," the policeman held out the box, the straw pointed towards Arthur, "would you mind blowing into this for me?"

Arthur obeyed, the box making a little whirring noise as he did. The policeman's eyes widened as he watched the dial on it. He took the box away.

"Right, would you mind stepping this way, sir? You need to accompany me back to the police station."

"Really? Alright, then..." Arthur stepped out, swaying violently, "you know...I went to the oddest garden last night...there were holes...holes everywhere in the grass...there...they'd filled them, not all the way, but filled them..._sand_."

The policeman opened the car door for him, "Sand, of course."

Arthur fell into the back seat, grinning inanely at the policeman.

"Sir, I'm arresting you on charges of drunk driving," he said, "is that clear?"

Arthur gave him a salute, "Whatever you say, Admiral."

The policeman rolled his eyes and shut the door. Arthur sat in the back of the car, smiling as it drove away.

He wondered what Molly would say when he told her about the holes full of sand.


	11. Caught Red Handed

**Hi, guys! I'm sorry I've left you for so long, but I have been really busy with school. The great news is that I've been accepted into the Sixth Form (kind of like a college, I suppose – I don't know if the USA has an equivalent) at my school, so I'm now looking forward to that. **

**The bad news is that I'm running out of ideas with this particular Fic, so after two more characters and their subsequent memory chapters, that will be it, I'm afraid. **

**I will still be around the site, writing other pieces, so if you ever want to talk, feel free. I might branch out, as well - as most of my friends know, I'm obsessed with the films of a certain director, so that's probably the direction I'll head in. I'm also really getting into the Hunger Games – I'm buying Mockingjay tomorrow and I'm going to see the film on Sunday (I can't wait!).**

**I hope I haven't bored you too much with personal details of my life, so...enjoy the chapter.**

**Chapter 10**

**Caught Red Handed**

The Writer flicked over the page of her book, feeling immensely pleased with herself. Snatching people and forcing them into revealing their deepest darkest secrets actually put quite a bit of money in the bank. Snape would get his share for bringing them, of course, but there was a reasonable amount left over.

The moment she thought this, there came a tap at the window. Sighing heavily, she put down the book with a dull _thud_ and sauntered over. Snape's owl was there, a note gripped in its beak.

"_Writer,_

_My next volunteer should be on her way very soon. She believes she is receiving ingredients for my Potions class, as well as a number of books._

_Be warned, she may seem an awful know-it-all, but is also extremely capable of handling herself. Do not relax your guard and be very convincing in your lie._

_Severus"_

"Know-it-all? It sounds horrible, but I don't even have to think about whom that could be..." the Writer muttered to herself.

Sure enough, within five minutes, there came a knock on the door. The Writer opened it, to find Hermione Granger stood outside, a large bag slung over her shoulder.

"Ah, you must be the student Professor Snape sent for the books and ingredients," the Writer smiled, backing away from the door, "do come in."

"Thank you..." Hermione stepped inside, eyes darting as she inspected the office, "I won't be too long. I must get back. Today, we're mixing solutions to create a potent Fever Cure Potion, first attempted by Druids in the late-"

"Awfully hot outside today, isn't it?" the Writer made conversation and interrupted clear across her voice, as I walked to the shelves containing all my potions, scraping a few together and placing them in a small wooden box on a lower shelf.

Snape needed it to be convincing – it looked like the Writer was giving her the potions, what I was actually doing was simply cleaning up.

"Terribly," Hermione replied, still wandering around the room, a little disappointed in the Writer's lack of interest in the Druids.

"Tell you what," the Writer began, "it's hot outside and you have a long journey back, so why don't you rest a few moments?"

Hermione took the seat in front of the Writer's desk. The Writer poured a glass of lemonade and Veritaserum, placing it on the desk in front of her.

"Here you are. I know the lift outside is broken and it can be hell having to climb those stairs."

"Oh, thank you..." Hermione sipped it quietly, tasting it. She stood up to move around the room, inspecting some old books, still sipping the lemonade.

"I've only ever read articles on this study...theories as to the origins of..."

Then it dawned on her. But by that time, it was far too late. She blurted out her secret.

"I love to steal!"

The Writer gasped. Hermione Granger, the purest, most saintly goody-two-shoes the world may have ever seen, love to _steal_?

"This...changes things, quite a bit," the Writer giggled, taking out her wand and preparing to point it at Hermione.

She looked up at the young witch and her face turned into a deep scowl.

"Oh, for goodness sake – put that _down_!" the Writer snapped.

Hermione had been attempting to stuff a couple of books into her bag, as well as the Writer's video camera.

"Sorry, I can't help it sometimes."

"Maybe this will solve it," the Writer pulled out her wand, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Hermione's limbs snapped together before she could even defend herself. The Writer emptied her bag of her ill-gotten goods and took the memory for good measure. She dragged Hermione outside, leaving her in the reception, down several flights of stairs.

By the time the Writer had done all that and made it back upstairs, she was hot, tired and a little angry that she almost had her stuff stolen.

"I need to cheer myself up a bit," she told herself, switching on her computer, "this next chapter should do perfectly..."


	12. The Case of the Hogwarts Kleptomaniac

**Hi guys, I'm back again. I apologise for the prolonged silences, but I have finally got the chapter ready for you.**

**I saw The Hunger Games, by the way. I demand that you read the books and see the film. It'll be worth it, I promise!**

**Anyway, on with the show...**

**Chapter 11**

**The Case of the Hogwarts Kleptomaniac **

"Harry, have you seen the jumper Mum sent me?" Ron asked, heading down the Dormitory stairs into the Common Room. Harry's quill scratched away at the piece of parchment. He was determined to finish his homework so he could do something – _anything _– else for a while. Hermione watched them carefully over the rim of her book, her heart beginning to race. Did they know it was her?

"Why, do you want someone else's opinion on it? Because I saw it the other day and to me it looks like a-"

"No, I mean it's not in my trunk," Ron threw himself onto the sofa in from of the fireplace, "I left it there and that's the last I saw of it."

Hermione quickly turned a page, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. The question she'd been dreading formed on Ron's lips.

"Hermione, have you seen it? I know it's an awful piece of clothing, but-"

"Oh, _honestly_, Ronald! Do you _really _think I spend my time watching where you mislay your things?" Hermione scolded rapidly, "I don't, alright? I don't know where your jumper is!"

Ron shrank back into the sofa slightly, "Alright, I was only asking."

Hermione snapped her book shut and stormed away, up towards the girl's Dormitory.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, turning round.

"To bed," Hermione replied, "I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow!"

"But we haven't even had dinner yet!" Ron shouted after her.

Hermione scurried up the stairs into the Dormitory, slamming the door behind her. She strained to pull out her trunk from under her bed. It weighed at least four times as much as it had when she'd arrived at the beginning of term.

Flipping open the lid, she admired her collection; Professor McGonagall's tartan dressing gown, her latest addition of Ron's jumper and even a snow globe she'd managed to swipe from the Slytherin table when Draco Malfoy wasn't paying attention. It was small and had a teddy bear sat on a wrapped Christmas present inside. The base bore the words "Happy Christmas" in red lettering. Hermione wondered which of his snooty, uptight family members had sent _that _to him.

And as she delved into her stolen treasures she stumbled upon the prize above all others...a pair of Snape's underwear – clean, of course. It was the only thing she'd managed to grab when she broke into his room in the dead of night. She'd been horrified at first, when she got it back to her trunk to look at it in the light. But that had been a while ago, so now she saw it as some kind of achievement. Plus, she was the only one in the school – apart from Snape himself – that knew he wore black boxer shorts with grey skulls on them. Knowledge most certainly _is _power.

She tipped the contents onto her bed, laying among her trophies and laughing in triumph.

"And no one knows a _thing_..." she told herself with glee.

Hang on.

She sat up. If no one knew...then she could do whatever she wanted with them right now. No one was there to catch her...so why not?

In a few minutes, she was parading in front of the Dormitory mirror, swishing McGonagall's tartan dressing gown from side to side as she moved. Parvati Patil's necklaces from her jewellery box jangled, Luna Lovegood's radish earrings swayed. But Ron's "mislaid" jumper was still discarded on the floor. She wasn't going _that_ far.

Feeling quite proud of herself, she stopped to check her hair in the mirror.

When there came a cough behind her. The kind of cough used to gain someone's attention. Hermione froze, turning round stiffly.

Ginny and Lavender were stood there, arms folded.

"What's going on, Hermione?" Ginny asked patiently, "and why do you appear to be wearing half the items reported missing up on the notice in the Common Room?"

The notice! McGonagall had put it up earlier, but she hadn't bothered to look at it. Hermione felt like smacking herself in the head for that. She should have checked.

The girls were beginning to get impatient.

"Well?" Lavender demanded.

Hermione's palms began to sweat and her breathing sped up.

"_Lie,"_ something in the back of her head told her, _"lie, or we're screwed." _

She glanced over at her knitting equipment, a half-finished hat rested on top of it. Without thinking, Hermione told the first lie that came into her brain.

"It was the House Elves!" she blurted out. Ginny and Lavender looked at each other, then at her – like she'd lost her mind.

"_We're screwed," _the voice concluded.


	13. ImPostter

**Hi, everyone, it's me. I hate the fact that I keep leaving you for so long, but ideas have been few and far between with this piece recently. I had to get at least one more chapter done before I go on holiday for two weeks this weekend. If I can, I'll get the next chapter done before I go. If not, I'll do it when I come back.**

**There are only going to be about three or four more chapters after this one, I'm sorry to say. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter...**

**Chapter 12**

**ImPos/tter**

The Writer sighed wearily. She'd been busy all morning sorting out some old books, going through what she was going to keep and the ones she was going to get rid of.

"Magic? I'm keeping it...violence and archery? I'm keeping it...vampires and crying? No one wants to read that..._reducto!_"

She swept the pile of ashes into the bin, a grin of triumph on her face. Putting away her wand, she went back to work.

Until there came a tap at the window, which took her by surprise and she dropped a stack of books on her foot.

"Damn it!" she cried out, turning to face the window in between nursing her sore foot. Snape's owl was there again, an expectant look on its face.

Cursing under her breath, she hopped to open the window.

"Alright, I'll take your letter," she told the owl angrily, snatching the letter from its beak, "but if you ever surprise me like that again, it won't be turkey I'm serving for Christmas. Are we clear?"

The owl hooted once, before taking off into the sky. The Writer shook her head, seating herself at her desk to open the letter.

"_Writer,_

_This volunteer believes he is receiving detention with you. He doesn't know what he's doing, so you can make him do whatever you like. He might be able to help you clean up that pigsty you call an office-"_

The Writer scowled. She always made an effort to keep her office well-presented. She looked up at the room proudly...then remembered she'd been sorting books, so everything was everywhere. She also noticed that at some point during her hop to open the window, she'd knocked the bin over and the ashes of The-Book-That-Must-Not-Be-Read had poured out over the floor. Deciding to clear up after she'd finished the letter, she continued to read.

"_He is also exceedingly arrogant. Taking him down a peg or two might serve this well.  
>Severus"<em>

"There are only two people in the world that Severus Snape describes as 'arrogant'," the Writer thought to herself, "one of them has already been here, so logic states that it must be the _other _Potter."

Sure enough, by the time the Writer had swept the ashes back into the bin and formed her plan, there was a knock on the door.

Harry Potter stood there, looking not as dejected as one might expect from someone supposedly in detention.

"Hello, Mr Potter," the Writer opened the door fully to let him in, "come in..."

He walked into the middle of the room, picking his way carefully between the piles of books.

"I take it Professor Snape gave you no indication of what to expect when you got here?" the Writer seated herself at her desk.

"No," Harry replied, looking around at the books, "what do I have to do?"

"You'll be sorting these books for me, in alphabetical order and then placing them on the shelves behind you."

"Fine," Harry shrugged and set about working, his back to the Writer.

It took a good few hours, but eventually, the room was spotless and the books were back on the shelves. The Writer smiled, reminded of what Snape said in his letter.

"'Pigsty' my foot," she thought to herself, before noticing Harry was about to leave rather quickly.

"Where do you think you're going?" she called out. Harry froze without turning round.

"Professor Snape told me to return as soon as the detention was over," he replied.

"Wouldn't you like something to drink?" the Writer asked back, "I know that this is a punishment, but you've done a lot of work and could use a break."

Harry turned round, looking dubious. The Writer threw up her hands defensively.

"Do I _look_ like I'm going to kill you?" the Writer dove into her pocket and fished out her wand, throwing it onto the desk, "I'm unarmed. My wand is closer to you than it is to me right now."

Harry took a suspicious step forward, then another, then another. He took the seat in front of the desk, relaxing a little. The Writer poured him a cup of pumpkin juice laced with her favourite potion and sat back to enjoy the side effects.

"This wasn't the worst detention you've ever had, was it?" she asked, doodling absentmindedly on a piece of scrap paper. She stopped when she realised the enchantment on her writing set was causing the wall to grow multicoloured feathers where there should have been wallpaper. She scribbled it out and put the pen away, the wall returning to normal.

"Not really, no," Harry chuckled, "Snape thinks he's getting back at James Potter for everything by punishing his son – little does he know that I'm not actually Harry Potter!"

"_What?"_ the Writer scrambled to her feet.

"You'll see, soon enough," he replied, "my Polyjuice Potion is wearing off..."

The person stood before her suddenly grew taller by about a foot. His hair grew longer and unkempt, a beard sprouted and he removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose. He grinned, showing horribly bad teeth.

"Rodolphus Lestrange!" the Writer gasped.

"That's right! I'm sick and tired of being ignored by everyone, so I kidnapped Harry Potter and have been using him as a supply for Polyjuice Potion so that I can go out and people will pay attention to me!" Rodolphus shouted back, grinning madly.

"Um...Rodolphus? You've got a little bit of crazy on your face," the Writer pointed to the corner of her own mouth, "you know that if you're caught by any of the other Death Eaters, you'll be killed, right?"

"Didn't you listen to what I said? Everyone ignores me! Do you think I'll ever be caught when no one notices when I leave?" Rodolphus shot back, "the Dark Lord has plenty of servants, so one less isn't much of an issue."

"What about your wife?"

"My _wife_?" Rodolphus laughed sardonically. "You _really _think that _she _cares where I am?"

"Well, no, not really..." the Writer shrugged, "but if you want to be noticed, why become your Lord's most hated enemy?"

"Because I want the fame, the glory and to be noticed by others – when I become Harry, everywhere I go I see people recognise me, then turn and whisper about what great things I'm going to do. It feels good. I tried to make it up to the Dark Lord by trying to divulge information I'd gathered from the Order of the Phoenix, but once again, I was overlooked."

"But when the time comes, you're going to have to let Harry and the Dark Lord fight it out," the Writer pointed out, feeling a little sorry for the man stood in front of her.

"I know. But for now, I don't have to do anything. I will, one day, let Harry Potter and the Dark Lord-"

Rodolphus Lestrange fell to the floor, his limbs bound tightly together and a gag in his mouth. The Writer put away her wand, which she'd picked up during Rodolphus' small rant. She'd been feeling sorry for him, but not sorry enough.

"I'm bored of you now. It's no wonder everyone ignores you – it's because you ramble on forever if they let you get going."

She took the memory from his struggling form, grinning at one she remembered from earlier.

"How drunk were you during that whole Sirius incident?" she spluttered.

Rodolphus looked at her with a mixture of panic and rage. He struggled harder, but the ropes tying him up could not be moved.

With some difficulty, the Writer manoeuvred Rodolphus into the newly-repaired lift, pressing the button for the ground floor. As soon as the doors closed, she skipped happily back to her office.

"If that wasn't Harry, where's the _real_ Harry?" she wondered aloud to herself, tapping her chin. Then, she shrugged, turning on her computer.


	14. The Curious Tale of Rodolphus Lestrange

**Hello, everyone. I'm so sorry I keep leaving you like this, but things have been piling up recently and I'm back at school now, which doesn't really help. The good news is that most days, I have a free slot in my timetable, which allows me to do my homework so I have more free time to write at home!**

**Anyway, this entire piece is almost finished. I have around two or three more chapters and that's it, I'm afraid. But don't dwell on that; enjoy these last few chapters.**

**I don't think this is the best chapter I've ever written, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.**

**Chapter 13**

**The Curious Tale of Rodolphus Lestrange**

"_Rodolphus_! Get down here right this _instant_!"

"Coming, dearest," Rodolphus called lamely back. He sighed to himself – what could the screaming harpy possibly want _now_? She didn't actually care where he was unless it was to her advantage.

Maybe it was time to get the Polyjuice Potion out again and go for another "walk". He could do it and they'd never know. The last "walk" he went on lasted three months!

He glanced quickly at the bedside cabinet, where he kept his supply of the brew. The "source" was out cold in the cellar under Malfoy Manor. He wasn't going anywhere for the foreseeable future.

"Maybe later," he told himself, getting up to leave.

By the time he made it downstairs, the meeting had already started without him and all the seats were taken. Nobody had even noticed that he'd turned up; they were all too busy hanging onto every word the Dark Lord spoke.

"We must strike soon and strike fast, my friends," Voldemort addressed them all.

"I'm sorry I arrived late, my Lord," Rodolphus spoke up, coming closer to listen.

No one heard. They all nodded in agreement with what their Master was saying instead, muttering.

"Harry Potter is at Hogwarts and he cannot be protected forever."

The mutters got a little louder as the Death Eaters agreed again. Rodolphus folded his arms.

"No he isn't. He's in the cellar, out cold and ready for killing."

There was a small silence. Then Voldemort spoke up again.

"We shall lie in wait for him as he boards the train from Hogsmeade to King's Cross! His Auror friends cannot protect him there! Resistance shall be minimal and he will at last be finished!"

The Death Eaters laughed and cheered at this supposedly brilliant plan.

Rodolphus shook his head and went back to his bedroom without another word.

He changed out of his clothes, ready to drink the Polyjuice Potion. He had "borrowed" Harry's Hogwarts uniform from his trunk when he first made one of these trips to the school. It was easy to get in and out of the Gryffindor common room as long as you went in with somebody else. The uniform itself was a tight fit, but soon that wouldn't matter.

The potion never went down well. He gagged a little as he drank, but took the foul taste and finished the vial. He watched his reflection in the mirror with amusement as he shrank and his hair shortened; his nose snapped back so it was straight and his beard disappeared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Harry's glasses, pressing them gently onto his face.

He admired his new look in the mirror, grinning madly.

"Not bad at all..." he picked up Harry's wand from under his bed, where he'd hidden it for safekeeping.

Creeping out of the house was going to be less easy and he needed to find somewhere safe to Dispparate. He'd nearly been caught several times and all it took was one fatal slip.

Checking the corridor was empty, he made his way along the landing and down the stairs. The Death Eaters were still busy listening to the Dark Lord and hadn't noticed a thing.

Rodolphus didn't even bother closing the door quietly. No one was listening, anyway.

He appeared on the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. It was quite late and no one noticed his arrival, so he made his way up to the school, finding the first corridor he entered deserted. At least, he _thought _it was deserted...

"Potter!" Snape shouted, marching over. Snape? The meeting must have finished earlier than usual – he could have sworn he saw Snape sat to the right of the Dark Lord...

Snape stared down his nose at him, "What are you doing, wandering the corridors this late at night?"

"Nothing, Sir," he mumbled.

"_Nothing?_" Snape raised a critical eyebrow. "Well, you can be busy doing "nothing" in detention tomorrow and fifty points from Gryffindor. Return to your dormitory, Potter."

Rodolphus smiled to himself as he walked away. Fifty points from Gryffindor was no skin off his nose and he'd most likely be gone by tomorrow.

No one was out around the Fat Lady's portrait that late at night, so it took some threatening with the promise of turpentine for the door to open, in place of providing a password.

Ron and Hermione were the only two in the Common Room – everyone else had gone to bed. They looked up as they saw him coming.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione put down her book on the table. "Harry" shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied solemnly, trying to keep his head down and heading quickly for the stairs. He needed his next draught of Polyjuice Potion very soon and the time was ticking away.

"Nothing?" Ron asked, reminding Rodolphus of his earlier conversation with Snape. "You've been gone all evening, mate!"

Rodolphus shrugged. He tried to avoid people who knew Harry Potter well when he went out in disguise, but now it couldn't be avoided.

"Harry, look at me," Hermione marched over, put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to turn round, before screaming loudly, hands over her mouth.

"What happened to your _face?_" she gasped, horrified.

Rodolphus put his hands out to touch his nose...which had grown larger again and facial hair was beginning to sprout quickly. His potion was wearing off! He needed a safe place to take another dose and fast!

He sprinted up the stairs to his dormitory, Hermione and Ron hot on his heels and firing questions that he wouldn't answer.

He burst through the door, waking people from their sleep with a jolt. They, too, began asking questions – a lot of them containing curse words not to be repeated.

In his (well, Harry's) trunk, he grabbed at the spare vial of Polyjuice Potion and drank quickly, but it was too late. They'd seen him. They'd seen him and they were staring, one boy heading for the door to call for help.

Rodolphus had no other choice but to escape. He ran for it - legging it down the stairs and through all the twists and turns of the corridors, not caring if he knocked into people. He had to get out. He ran out into the Forest, hearing people closing in behind him. He didn't stop to check over his shoulder - not even to make sure it wasn't the centaurs, or even a werewolf.

Only after a lot of running, tripping and more than one occasion when he thought he was being watched, did he feel it was safe to stop. He Apparated back to the only place knew was safe; Malfoy Manor.

Arriving in the entrance hall, he heard voices coming from the meeting room.

"It was a pity that Snape had to leave so early. His contribution has been most invaluable these past few weeks and I'm sure he has more to offer."

"Indeed, my Lord."

The voices were heading towards him, but that was no matter. He would most likely be ignored, as per usual.

The Death Eaters followed their master out, only for them all to stand stock still in front of him. All of them looked delighted to see him – even his wife looked pleased, in her menacing way.

Then he looked down and realised why.

The Polyjuice Potion.

In front of them was not Rodolphus Lestrange, but Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter..." Lord Voldemort grinned horribly, "The Boy Who Lived is here to die, at last!"

"No, no, you don't understand!" he tried explain, to beg for his life, but he was too afraid to speak the words.

"Bring him to me," Voldemort ordered.

"It would be the greatest honour, my Lord," Bellatrix gushed, before taking off in a run.

She was heading straight for him. All the other Death Eaters followed close behind.

Rodolphus fled outside, heading anywhere but where he was at that moment in time. As he ran, he had a curious thought.

_"Just my luck...the first time my wife has run to me is because she wants to kill me."_


	15. The Game is Up

**Hello, everyone. I'm so sorry I've left you for so long (Again! I'm awful, aren't I?), but work has been piling up lately. Luckily, I have some free time now that it's October half term, so I have managed to complete the second to last chapter. I will try to get started on the last chapter as soon as possible, on Saturday (my seventeenth birthday) if I can.**

**It's not as long as previous chapters; it's more of an in-between to show the events that led up to the last chapter (which will be longer). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter 14**

**The Game is Up**

The Writer stared out at the gloomy October afternoon. Autumn was well and truly in and she hadn't received any notification from Snape about any more people. So, it was just her, alone with her thoughts and the rain.

She turned to head over to the kettle and make herself something to drink, but was caught off-guard by someone stood in the middle of her office. She jumped backwards, fumbling for her wand in her pocket.

Then she had another look at the figure and relaxed. Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, Professor," she spoke calmly, her hand falling away from her pocket to her side.

"Good afternoon," he nodded promptly. "I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in."

"No...no, of course not..." it was the first time the Writer didn't feel completely at ease and her confidence was slipping. She offered him the chair in front of her desk. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," Dumbledore sat, indicating his head out the door, "I also took the trouble of fixing that broken lift. At my age, those stairs are an unwanted obstacle."

A certain familiar idea crept up into the Writer's mind. If she could secure a memory from Albus Dumbledore, that would be the perfect way to end the entire series!

"Oh, really? Thank you – everyone had been complaining, but nobody had bothered to get it fixed," the Writer stood up. "I was just about to make some tea. Would you like any?"

"Please. White, with three sugars," Dumbledore leaned back comfortably in the chair. "No Veritaserum."

There was a crash as the Writer dropped both a mug and the vial of Veritaserum. Glass and china littered the counter top and the floor. But she wasn't bothered about those at that precise minute.

"How...?"

"Did I know?" Dumbledore finished without turning round. "I keep a closer eye on my staff than many people believe. Professor Snape won't be bringing you new material any longer."

The Writer forgot about the tea and the things she'd broken and returned to her desk. She sat down, looking at him seriously. She slipped a piece of paper and her pen in front of her. She clicked the top of the pen, touching the nib to the paper's surface.

"But I could simply-"

"Re-write what just happened there, so that the outcome is in your favour?" Dumbledore's eyes shone through his half-moon spectacles. "I don't believe you'd do that. It would be too simple and you like a challenge – it's why you chose Death Eaters as your first victims. Even though the enchantment placed upon that pen in your hand made even _their_ efforts seem feeble."

The Writer was speechless, "I-I don't-"

"Know what to say? You don't have to say anything," Dumbledore waved his hand nonchalantly. "I intend to help you finish your series, anyway."

The Writer dropped her pen, "You're serious?"

"Perfectly," Dumbledore smiled. "I have no reason to keep this a secret, for it is more Voldemort's shame than my own. Who knows? This might be the end to the war, without any bloodshed."

The Writer leaned forward in her chair, listening intently, "Do go on..."

Dumbledore beckoned her over and whispered in her ear. The Writer nodded, agreeing occasionally with a murmured noise of approval and even spluttered with laughter at one point. She went back to her desk, sat and looked at Dumbledore.

"What do you suggest?" he asked her.

The Writer picked up her pen and clicked it, "I think we can come to some sort of an arrangement, Professor."


End file.
